


The Woman You Come Home To

by lillahbee



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Pining, Rio trying to pretend he doesn't have emotions, Sexual Tension, Violence, and crime, and detailed descriptions of how attractive Rio is, but there's still a lot of drinking, dean is still, maybe some smut?, probably going to diverge from canon, well a major dean-bag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-09 02:26:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillahbee/pseuds/lillahbee
Summary: There are plenty of solutions to dealing with a serial cheater for a husband, and Beth is familiar with more than one. The second time Dean cheats on her, she destroys his office and robs a bank. The first time, though, she went for some good old fashioned karma.It looks like karma is turning around to bite her in the ass, too, because the man she had an intense affair with for half a year is now standing in her kitchen with a golden gun in hand, looking like the cat who caught the canary.(AKA the one where Beth gets in too deep with Rio in more ways than one.)Note: This is set about 11 months before 'Pilot' of Good Girls





	1. you go back to her, i go back to black

Housewives are probably normally thought to have a low alcohol tolerance. 

A glass of Pinot at dinner, a flute of champagne here and there-Stepford wives and heavy alcohol don't mix. At least, not in public places. But Beth is used to downing three fingers of scotch whenever she and Dean have just had a blown out fight, or shots of tequila, sequestered on the couch in the living room with Ruby and Annie across from her. 

The point of this, of course, is that she's not feeling the whiskey set in front of her, and she's on her second glass. She expected better from this bar-it's part of the reason why she picked here in the first place. They literally have a sign expressing that they only serve draft beers and hard liquor, and you could high tail your ass out of there if you're looking for some fruity cocktail. She didn't want a mild buzz. In fact, she had the whole evening planned out. 

First, she would get drunk, of course. Drunk enough to be a little wreckless, but not 'blackout and end up without her wallet and shoes' drunk. Then, she'd call an Uber and get a ride back to the house. Dean would open the door, wonder where she'd been, and she'd remark that she was surprised he even noticed, since he'd been so preoccupied lately with sticking his penis in Breanna from the PTA meetings.

That's the plan, at least, but the remark sounds more like something Annie would encourage her to say, and less like something she'd actually go through with, especially when drunk. More likely, she'll stumble in and, without any tact or reason, tell him she knows he's having an affair. She'll probably cry-oh God, she hopes she doesn't cry. He doesn't deserve her tears anymore. 

She feels the muted buzz of her phone in her purse, and reluctantly digs it out, starting in surprise when she sees a text from Dean. A text from Ruby or Annie would be much more believable, and that fact hits her in the face like a slap. When did she get so complacent in her marriage? When did not even checking in with her husband become the norm? Nearly nineteen years of marriage feels like it's dissolving into dust around her, but she still feels a stupid sort of fresh pang in her heart as she opens her phone. A small hope that diminishes immediately. 

Dean (8:39 pm): Kids ate all the pizza, you should just order takeout or something at Annie's.  

She feeds this man every night, and he can't even be bothered to save her a slice of pepperoni. Not that it's really about the pizza, but still. She responds with a quick 'k' and nothing else in fear that if she keeps texting, everything will pour out of her. Pockets her phone. Turns back to her sad glass of whiskey. And promptly feels a presence settle next to her at the bar counter. 

"You don't seem like a hard liquor type of woman." 

Beth swivels her head in the direction of the voice fully intent on telling whatever bum has decided to flirt with her to fuck off, but her mouth clamps back shut the second she sees him. He's younger than her, she's sure, with closely clipped black hair and matching dark eyes, a smirk  playing at his lips. Incredibly handsome, too-in a way that he seems to know, if the confidence he's leaning on the counter with is anything to go by. His clothing is dark, a black button up and dark jeans, a tattoo playing at his throat, and...and he looks exactly like the type this bar caters to, yet not at the same time. Like he's above all of this, somehow. 

She, however, is obviously not the type to hang out at a place like this, and it's so painfully obvious that she has to stop herself from turning around to see if he's talking to someone over her shoulder. He isn't, though. Those dark eyes are fixated entirely on her. 

"Don't seem like the type to be in this place, either," he continues like he's reading her mind, eyes flicking down her body and back up. She's in one of her more form fitting mom shirts that shows off her assets a little more than the others, but it's still a mom shirt, so she waits for disinterest to bank in his eyes, waits for him to back off. He doesn't. 

For a second, Beth is tongue-tied. She hasn't flirted with someone other than Dean since her senior year of highschool. Maybe a couple drunken nights during her brief stint in college. He's still looking at her, and when she realizes she hasn't dignified him with a response, she picks up her glass and says lamely, "It's just one of those nights." 

"I'm not complaining." 

He's smirking at her again, in a way that has her insecurities thinking this must be a joke, and it smarts. "Look, I'm not really in the mood for company tonight." 

He cocks his head like a bird, says, "You sure about that? Coulda fooled me, with the way you've been glancing around everywhere." 

She raises an eyebrow. "So you admit to watching me?" 

He, for his part, seems unashamed. It's refreshing. Dean, even when they were young, has always been goofy and sometimes unsure of himself. Never has she seen this cockiness in him, this powerful aura. It's kind of pitiful, that she's been talking to this (somewhat rude) stranger for less than two minutes, and she already feels more heat with him than she ever has with her husband. "Why else would I be here talking to you?" 

Beth scoffs. "Are you sure you're talking to the right person? Maybe I'm assuming, but I don't really seem like your type." It may be a dingy bar, but the drinks are cheap enough that there's a group of college girls in the corner by the pool table, giggling to themselves. Why isn't he hitting on one of them? 

He shrugs one shoulder, still leaning on that countertop like he owns it. "Maybe I'm branching out." 

He's teasing her, but his gaze is still packing that heat and...and nothing. She should tell him to fuck off. Scoff in his face and let him flirt with someone else. 

Did Dean have this moment? she wonders for a split second. Was he conflicted at all? 

The stranger isn't just leaning against that countertop, she realizes. He's waiting for her to give him an invitation to sit down, for her to turn him away. All the while, her hesitation is draining right out of her. 

"I'm Beth," she offers, and his smirk stretches into the ghost of an actual smile. He sits, motions to the bartender for another round-two whiskeys, it looks like-, turns his ruggedly beautiful face back to her. 

"Rio." 

-

They're walking down the hallway to the hotel room he just rented, and Beth feels her morals catching back up to her. 

On one shoulder, she imagines Ruby is hissing at her that she's crazy. Have you lost your damn mind? Take the high road, Beth. Go back to your kids, expose Dean, anything but possibly contracting an STD!

On the other is Annie. This is total instant Karma! An 'eye for an eye' if you will, which is totally still a practiced concept. Besides, someone needs to get rid of the dried up twigs up in your lady bits before they go completely Sahara Desert on you. 

She stopped after her third drink, and honestly, most of the buzz she's feeling has less to do with the alcohol, and more to do with the blatant attention this guy-Rio-has been giving her for the better part of the last hour. Mostly, they talked about shallow topics. She wasn't about to tell a complete stranger about the problems in her marriage, and if he had any specific reason why he was at a bar on a Wednesday, he certainly didn't reveal so to her. 

They flirted, of course, but not overly. He didn't totally butter her up in some desperation to get laid, even when he got a little bold. They both knew perfectly well that if she rejected him, he would have no problem finding another companion for the night, but for some reason, he wanted her. It was a little pathetic, Beth knows. But...it had been so long since she's felt wanted. Since she's felt like first place. 

She forces herself to keep her confidence as he opens the door to the room and allows her to go in first, but it completely falters when she actually sees the bed, the minimalist furnishings, and realizes she's doing this completely insane thing. The imaginary Ruby on her shoulder is absolutely right-she's lost her mind. She isn't this person. Has never been the type of person to have a one night stand. Just because Dean is a piece of shit and her life is crashing down on her doesn't mean she has to do something this drastic. 

Beth has always been the responsible one. She can be responsible in this, too. 

So she turns, opens her mouth, but before she can get a word out, his lips are on hers. Her eyes flutter shut as she sucks in a breath. She hadn't even heard the door click shut behind him. Could never have imagined he'd pace over here and plunder her like this within seconds. That underlying tension that's been slowly building up between them is bubbling up and bursting at the seams, and her hands find their way to his neck, scrape through his short hair. 

His hands are gripping her hips so hard as he backs her up that she wonders dimly if she'll have bruises, like the heroines in the erotic novels Annie always pushes on her always seem to have after their 'passionate lovemaking.' She wonders if Dean will see...finds she doesn't care about him, his feelings, his affair. 

All she cares about right now is the way Rio's tongue is working hers, the ways he's handling her. Like she's strong. Like she's not some delicate doll he's afraid to break. 

Her ass hits the mattress, and she yanks him down by the front of his black button up. Lets him pull her shirt over her head, only wincing a little when she hears it tear. "I better be able to wear that out of here," she says a little breathlessly, and can feel him smile against the hollow of her throat. 

"You won't be thinking about some shirt after I'm through with you," he tells her, and that fire in her belly burns hotter.

Dean is at home, probably watching football. Her kids are asleep, hopefully. And she's here, a stranger's mouth on her tits as soon as he's flung her bra across the room, his fingers skating down her stomach towards the buttons of her jeans. 

Perhaps the most addictive part of all of this is the feeling of the rest of her worries evaporating to nothing as she lets go. 

-

Rio's in the shower. 

He didn't ask her to join him, which Beth is both unsurprised by and grateful for. She doesn't have the stamina that she did ten or twenty years ago, and though she thinks she kept up with him pretty well, she's still lying like a worm on the bed, trying to catch her breath as he turns the water on and shuts the door. 

There was no pillowtalk or cuddling afterward. Only mindblowing sex, which she'll take over false promises any day of the week. She isn't disillusioned as to what this was. There will be no future calls or texts-they both got what they wanted, and now they move on with their lives with nothing but a few fond memories. At least, she'll definitely have a few fond memories, because dear God, the man's tongue is skilled. Everything about him is skilled. 

She doesn't bother being quiet as she pulls her jeans back on and clips her bra into place. Her shirt is indeed torn, but only at the collar-nothing a little stitch can't fix. She looks at her reflection in the mirror-her hair is a mess and her lips are swollen, and for the first time since before Rio kissed her like he did, she feels a twinge of panic. To hell with Dean, Kenny might still be awake. Even though it's nearly eleven, he has a tendency to sneak his gameboy under the covers if she doesn't check on him dilligently. Emma might have a bad dream. 

Tedious one night stands are not something mothers of four-good mothers of four-do. 

She grabs her purse, checks for her wallet, her keys, her phone, and pulls her jacket firmly on, making sure it covers the shirt tear. For a moment, she hesitates and glances towards the bathroom. The water is still running, and she wonders if this is his way of hinting that she should be gone by the time he emerges. He doesn't have to worry about that. And if she feels just a smidgen of disappointment that she's never going to see him again, then she tamps down on it and pretends it was never there anyways. 

The moment Beth opens the door to the hotel room, she hears the shower turn off. The door shuts behind her, and she doesn't look back. 


	2. it wears her out

The next day starts as every week day does for Beth. 

She gets up at 6:30 to make herself presentable. School starts at 8:20, so she makes sure everyone is up by 7:30 while she handles breakfast-eggs and bacon today. Scrambled for Emma and Danny, sunny side up for Kenny and Jane. Over easy for Dean. 

She slides her husband's plate in front of him as he arranges Jane's bacon into a smile under her two eggs, studying his face. He was already asleep when she crept into the house last night. He didn't stir when she scrubbed herself down in the shower, and he certainly wasn't looking at her body while she got dressed this morning, so he didn't notice the love bites on either of her breasts. 

And she...she got into bed. Got up this morning like everything was fine and she hadn't been crying her eyes out into a glass of whisky the night prior. Hadn't had another man inside her. A pang of guilt hits her, through the resentment that's wrapped around her heart in a thick sheet. Dean cheating on her wasn't supposed to be a green light for her to do the same-that wasn't what marriage was supposed to be based on. It's sort of disconcerting that it's taken less than 24 hours for her to completely forsake everything they've had together.

Not that he knows that. He looks at her now with that clueless, goofy look on his face, and when his brows furrow, she realizes she's been staring at him. "Do I have something on my face?" 

No, but you have sexual messages between you and a woman who's supposed to be my friend on your phone. And no passcode. She blinks and shakes her head. "No. I'm just thinking about Jane and Danny's Christmas recital." 

Dean hums around his coffee cup. "Leanne's still being a tyrant?" 

"It's a Christmas recital, not American Idol, but she doesn't seem to know that," Beth says shortly. Before he can respond, she whisks the empty plates into the sink and calls for the kids, looks at his still half full plate pointedly. "Do you need me to take them to school today?" She'd rather talk about the logistics of their children's lives with him and nothing else. She's not sure how she's supposed to carry on a conversation with him calmly and coherently. Actually, she's not sure how she hasn't already snapped, 'I know you're having an affair, and so did I.' 

"Don't worry about it, honey," he assures her as he stands up. "I've got it." 

She lets him wrangle the kids all by himself. Lets him grab Kenny's game boy and wrestle Emma into her shoes. And if he frowns in her direction, like he can't for the life of him understand why she's not helping him with the menial tasks she does every single day, she pretends she doesn't see it. They leave after a few more minutes of chaos, and Beth deflates, pressing a finger to her temple, before her eyes wander behind her. Is 8:30 in the morning too early for a drink? 

By 11:30 am, Beth's succumbed to a glass of wine. The dishes are washed, the kids' bed sheets wrangled into the washer, and now she's supposed to be battening down the hatches and pumping out baked goods for the classroom Christmas parties that are mostly on the same day. That's 2 dozen brownies for Danny, 30 christmas shaped sugar cookies for Jane, and 27 snowman cupcakes for Emma's preschool. She usually plays the perfect housewife/mother part with vigor, participating in every rally and class party and bake sale, but now, she has no energy.

"A glass of red before noon?" Beth looks up just in time to see Annie toss her purse onto the counter and slump into one of the barstools. "I like your style." 

Beth raises an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure I put your house key privileges on hiatus the last time we went on vacation and you decided to have an alcohol binge in the living room." 

Annie, for her part, doesn't look ashamed in the slightest. "Well yeah, but you guys aren't very original with your hiding spots, so the spare was easy enough to find. Besides, Sadie was with Gregg, and it wasn't like I threw a rager here." 

That's not the point, but Beth grabs a wine glass for her sister anyways and pours the wine with a generous hand. Annie takes it, raising an eyebrow. "What's up with you?" 

When Beth day drinks, it's for a reason, and of course Annie knows this. She's about as perceptive a rock, but Beth has been the responsible sibling their entire lives. It's the curse of being the oldest, partly, but their mother always said she was 'born with the ground firmly under her feet.' Practical, sensible, even as a kid. Apparently, she ran out of all her practicality yesterday, and it's showing. 

"Nothing," she shrugs. "December's always just a busy month." Her brain freezes. She's been planning on telling Annie and Ruby what had happened as much as she's planning on telling Dean-the lie had sort of subconsciously popped out. And why had it popped out, exactly? She told her sister and her best friend everything. Plus, a little Dean bashing wouldn't do her any harm.

Yet the words still don't pop out of her mouth, even as Annie eyes her suspiciously. Finally, she shrugs and takes two gulps of wine. "Is Ruby's family coming to Christmas dinner?" 

Beth shakes her head as she finally garners enough energy to start gathering ingredients for the first batch of brownies. "They're heading out to Stan's dad's place," she explains, happy for the distraction. "Ruby said she and Stan are hoping the fresh air will do Sara some good. They'll be here for New Years Eve, though." 

"Is the inhaler helping at all?" 

Beth shrugs, a little helplessly. "I spoke to Ruby last night-she said not really." Sara'd been struggling with shortness of breath since September-maybe longer, actually. The kid was a tough cookie and hated worrying her parents. Even after she'd told Ruby she was struggling with breathing sometimes, she played it off until about a month ago, when she'd been running around in the back yard with Kenny and had nearly collapsed into a wheezing fit. 

"I mean, I don't really know much about asthma," Annie says. "Is it natural for it to show up at this stage in her life? She's already ten." 

Beth doesn't know much about asthma either. She measures out the butter and glances up. "Well, Stan and Ruby are keeping a close eye on her now, so whatever it is, they'll find out." They both settle into contemplative silence after that, but when Annie checks her phone, curses, and starts chugging her wine, Beth raises an eyebrow. "I'm guessing there's a particular reason you're daydrinking?" 

"Just preparing for the day shift." Annie groans dramatically, throwing her head back. "I am counting down the days until I can tell Macy's where, exactly, they can shove it. I deal with raging baby boomers all day and I don't even get a decent discount? Bye."

This has been an annual occurence for Annie since her and Gregg's divorce-around October or November every year, she picks up a seasonal job on top of the job she works at Fine N Frugal to shoulder holiday expenses so Sadie can have a great Christmas. It's not unusual at this point, but this time, much to Beth's guilt, it puts a bad taste in her mouth. 

Will this be the position she's in next Christmas? Divorced and struggling to support her kids? 

Beth admires her little sister. Annie kicks ass to support Sadie, but she stills struggles sometimes, and she only has one kid. Beth has four. Four kids and no college degree-no actual work experience since she was in her twenties, before Kenny was born. Her heart contracts as the unfairness of this all slaps her square in the face. She's the one who was done dirty (first, at least) and yet Dean, capable, money making Dean...he could take everything from her if she divorced him. 

Annie's snapping her fingers at her rather obnoxiously, and Beth blinks. "Hm?" 

Her sister scoffs. "What Kool-Aid have you been drinking today?" Her expressions sobers just a bit as she studies her. "You sure you're okay? You seem really out of it." 

Beth nods on autopilot, half because she doesn't want her sister to worry, half because she doesn't want herself to worry. She's perfectly content in her own denial for now. She just needs to get through the holidays first. Give her kids a good Christmas. Celebrate with family and friends. And then she can look the problem straight in the eye. 

Baby steps. Right now, it's all she can take. 

-

A week flies by, and Beth busies herself in the way that she always does. Smuggles stocking stuffers into the house and hides them in strange places her kids would never find them. Bakes all her batches, then some gingerbread for a gingerbread house for good measure. Takes the kids Christmas Caroling with her merry band of mom friends and their kids, curls up on her couch and watches reruns of the Bacherlorette with Ruby and Annie. 

It's right there, on the tip of her wine loosened tongue-what Dean's done, what she's done. Instead, she swallows it down, laughs at Annie's comments and Ruby's 'what the fuck is this bitch doing' face. Every night, she climbs into bed with her husband, like nothing's wrong. 

She keeps telling herself that she's just saving this discussion for after the holidays, but it's sort of become a game. for her And not one just revolving around Breanna and Dean. Dean tries to peck her lips-Beth gives him her cheek, and he isn't even surprised, because this is a pattern they fell into long ago. Except now, when he tries to kiss her, he has no idea she's thinking about a stranger who left her sore for two days and gave her the best sex she's had in...well, ever. 

It's the night of the recital, and Beth finds herself smooshed into a seat with Emma on her lap, two absent seats to her left, Ruby and Stan to her right. The seats on her left are for Kenny-who's sulking with his other friends who are 'too cool' for recitals somewhere in the back- and Dean. 

"Leanne really printed off a program for this?" Ruby says incredulously. 

"It's for the moms who want to frame it," Beth replies idly. Ruby looks like she's about to tell her she's the exact type of mom the program's printed out for then, but Stan cuts in. 

"Jesus, played by Danny Boland," he reads. "Santa Claus, played by Brandon Cho." He sits back, cocks his head. "You know, it's been a minute since I read the bible, but I don't remember the big guy in red chilling with Mary and Joseph." 

Despite herself, Beth laughs. She's always loved Stan, and she's glad that even though her marriage will most likely be in smithereens come January 2nd, Ruby's is still holding strong. 

The laugh fades, though, when she sees who's coming up the aisle towards her seat. 

Breanna Smith is sort of a constant source of gossip between the more judgemental moms occupying PTA. Her daughter, Evie, was a result of a teen pregnancy, and to all the pedigreed, upper middleclass housewives, that's just unacceptable. Usually, Beth is able to dredge up a modicum of sympathy, but right now, she's just focusing on the fact that Bre's still young and so beautiful. Hasn't even hit 30 yet, with dark brown hair she always styles perfectly and expressive green eyes. She passes Dean coming down to his saved seat, and they smile at each other. It's a polite smile, one that Beth would have overlooked before, but now...

The nerve of them, acting like there's nothing between them right in front of her face. 

Dean slumps into the seat next to her with a nod to Ruby and Stan, and thankfully, before he can try to engage her in any way, Kenny slips into the remaining seat, and her husband turns to him instead. 

The recital pulls out all of the stops, as it's bound to, with the budget Leanne pulled for it. Jane's beaming is obvious too, which softens Beth's heart. Her daughter's one of the tallest in her class and until this year, they've always been short on boys, so she's usually stuck with male parts. Last year during the production of 'A Christmas Carol', she was cast as Scrooge's understudy (seriously, what elementary school play needs an understudy?) and cried for an hour after she found out. This year, though, she's an angel. An angel with a singing solo, too, and she looks so damn proud of herself that Beth feels her worries melt away, if only for a moment. 

When the recital's ended and they've parted ways with Ruby and her family, Beth hesitates. Dean came here straight from work in his car, while she hauled everyone in the van. He looks up at her from where he's buckling Emma up in her car seat, flashes one of his quizzical, goofy smiles. "What's up?" 

"I need to check up on Annie," she blurts, and she's not even sure if it's a lie or not because she's completely blindsided herself. "She was supposed to come tonight." That is at least a half truth. Annie was planning on coming, but there was no sense of urgency behind her notable absence. 

Dean doesn't know that though. All he knows is that his sister-in-law struggled even when she was married to a somewhat responsible guy, and now she's a single mother. "I can take the kids home," he suggests. "If you want to take my car and zip over there." 

"That would be great," she nods, and he hands his keys over without an ounce of suspicion. 

Beth does start the drive to Annie's. Gets within a mile of her apartment. She doesn't loosen up often, but when she does, it's typically with her sister, who always has vodka on tap somewhere. She doesn't even have to say anything. Annie pushes a lot, but there's a line she knows not to cross. The car crawls to a stop at the intersection leading into Annie's apartment complex. 

And then Beth takes out her phone, pulls up Thirsty's Bar on Google Maps, and does a U-turn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written this chapter twice now, and it's still not quite what I envisioned, but fuck it, this is just a segue to the good shit anyways.   
> All the comments made my heart all warm and fuzzy, thank you guys! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far :)   
> Chapter title is taken from 'Fake Plastic Trees' by Radiohead.


	3. Beth I hear you calling

'What am I doing?'

Truly, Beth has no idea. Her hands are clenched around the steering wheel, some angsty pop ballad flowing through the car speakers, and she just stares at the entrance to the dinky little bar. Outside of the entrance, a few rough looking men are smoking cigarettes, the timbre of their voices loud enough that she can slightly make out the sound of them, even with the music on and the windows up. They all look aggravated and drunk, and part of her worries about passing them on her way into the bar. 

Wait. 

Is she really planning on going in again, or has all her courage drained out of her as soon as it came? She glances down at her fingers, drumming against the wheel, and oh, she's definitely already decided that she's heading in. She hadn't even realized she'd taken off her wedding ring and tucked it into her purse, just like the last time she was here. Except last time, she wasn't really looking for some rough fuck with a stranger-she took her ring off out of rage and heartbreak and the desperate urge to not be associated with Dean Bolland in that moment. 

Is that what she's looking for right now? A tumble with a stranger? Yes and no. There's one stranger she's thinking of. Her confidence had been somewhat shot when she'd realized her husband was fucking someone younger and still conventionally beautiful, but she knows, looking into the rearview mirror, that she's not unattractive. Even in this mom outfit, she could probably go to a cleaner environment and get an invitation from some Ken doll replica with mommy issues. She doesn't want a Ken doll replica, though. She's been thinking about the same smoldering eyes and tattooed throat and chiseled jaw all throughout the week. 

Beth knows she might be certifiably insane, walking in there on the off chance that the guy she had a one night stand with is there and is still interested in her, but she gets out of the car anyways. 

The guys by the entrance of the bar don't stop her, but they grow a little quieter, and she can feel them sizing up her up. God, it's painfully obvious she's far from her scene-she hopes they don't try to hotwire Dean's car or something while she's inside. She has no idea how she'd explain that one to her husband. 

'What the hell am I doing?'

The layout of the bar looks the same-grimy, probably teetering on the edge of health code violations, but she doesn't let herself linger on the appearance of the place as she tentatively makes her way to the bar counter. The overhead lights are slightly brighter here, perfectly illuminating the scuff marks on the worn wooden countertop. Perfectly illuminating her too, probably, and she wonders if subconsciously she chose the most well lit part of the place so anyone-let's be honest, a very, very specific anyone- who might be lurking in the corners can see that she's here. 

God, how pathetic. 

The bartender is a different person than last time, but same in the sense that it's another middle aged, long bearded, scowling man. He doesn't bat an eye as she orders a glass of their least offensive looking scotch, doesn't seem to care that she obviously does not belong here. Last time she was here, she couldn't quite get comfortable with the fact that she stood out like a sore thumb. Now, though, there's something freeing in the fact that no one actually gives a shit why she's here. No 'friends' to scorn her for being here on a week night instead of home with her kids. No one wondering why she's at a bar alone. 

Beth takes a look around. It's more dead than it was last time-other than a few scruffy guys farther down the countertop, and a table of three in the far corner of the bar, there's no one. No giggling college girls, no frat boys trying to impress them. Definitely no Rio. 

She's still trying to wrap her head around what the plan here is, exactly. What would the odds be that he miraculously came back to this bar the same night that she did? Slim, to say the least. And even if he does show up, the chances that he'll want a repeat with her are even slimmer. 

She could go somewhere else, she supposes. A more popular bar. Find some other young guy into older women to make her feel wanted and-no. No way. One, she didn't set out initially to have an affair, and bar hopping with that in mind is a level that's way beyond her, no matter how scorned she feels as of late. Two, she doesn't just want any clean cut, leering Tom or Harry in his late twenties to slobber all over her and fill her with false promises. Rio was a polar opposite of anything Dean has ever been, hard in all the places her husband is soft, and she's pretty sure that's why he appealed to her so much. Why he still appeals to her, to the point that she's sitting here, waiting for him to somehow show up and want her again. 

She finishes her scotch and pays, leaving a heftier tip than the bartender probably deserves. There's no reason to stay here and continue to be insane any longer. 

The men that were outside the entrance on her way in are no longer there, thankfully. She glances stealthily around the parking lot regardless-it's dark and she's an obvious target in places like this. Despite all her dilligence though, she still manages to skim over the shadow coming up to the side of the car just as her hand closes around the door handle, and when she sees movement out of the corner of her eye, she shrieks, hand flying to her heart. 

Rio's chuckle reverberates through her bones, and just as she starts processing that it's actually him, lurking around in the dark, he says, "Easy, mama. I ain't gonna rob you." 

"Why are you sneaking up on me in a sketchy parking lot then?" She demands breathlessly, hand still clutched over her chest. 

He has this way that he cocks his head as he regards her. He did it the day they met, and he's doing it now as he glances from her to the Prius, shrugs one shoulder. "See, I saw this candy ass car, and I figured how many people would drive one of these around these parts?" 

He's teasing her, but she can't think of anything clever to snark back at him, so instead, for some god forsaken reason, she just says, "It's practical." 

"Not at this place it ain't." 

For a moment, she just stares at him. This is what she's here for, right? To see him? And yet she just stands here lamely, taking in the outline of his fine winter coat, the dark of his shirt underneath. Beth clears her throat. "What are you doing here?" 

"I could ask you the same thing." She raises an eyebrow at him. "I got business with Roy sometimes. He co owns the place." 

She cants her head curiously. "What, do you own a bar like this or something?" 

For some reason she can't place, that seems to amuse him to no end. "Nah. I make deliveries for these boys sometimes." A delivery company? He must import some type of liquor-that makes sense. He looks the type. While she's pondering this, he takes a couple steps towards her, and by the time she blinks, he's almost encroaching on her personal space, looking her up and down in her fuzzy coat, eyes lingering on the spots of color she's sure are on her cheeks. "Wanna take this inside?" 

To Beth's frustration, she's thrown yet again. How many times can this man render her speechless within one conversation? She bristles instinctually, says, "I was just leaving." 

"Then wait for me," he says. 

"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?" She replies defensively, because he's 100% right. She's here for him in the first place. That doesn't mean she wants to be called out on it. 

Rio's smile is lazy, the way his eyes rake down her equally so. "You never answered my question-what you're doing here. I doubt it's for the whisky." 

She can feel her face start to flame, but she still manages to quip at him, "The scotch is a lot better." 

He chuckles, but to her chagrin, he's not falling for her deflections. "You could have left your number or somethin', instead of running out of there like your ass was on fire." 

"I wasn't aware that that's the sort of thing you left for a one night stand," she challenges quietly. 

"Two night stand, I'm thinking," he corrects her, and she has no idea what to say, how to subtly indicate that yes, he is exactly why she's here. Why is her head suddenly all over the place? Why is she letting her pride burn so bright that she's about to let him slip through her fingers? He won't chase her, she knows that. He wants her, sure, but he's not going to beg her for another chance between her legs. He proves her right a second later when he shrugs casually. "Suit yourself." 

He tilts his chin at her in farewell as he strolls past her, hands in his pockets, and it's only when the fabric of his coat starts to blend into the darkness around them that she realizes that no way in hell did she come all this way and actually somehow find him to just back out at the last second.

"I'll wait out here," she calls, and Rio slows to a stop. It's a few seconds before he turns to face her again, and even with the distance between them, she can see the way his eyes glitter as he looks at her. 

"Cool," he says, lips tilting. "I shouldn't be long." He turns back, continuing the trek towards the bar entrance, and Beth is suddenly stripped of all heat. It's December, so of course it's cold, but it was hard to register the nipping air with him so close to her, with the heat that burned her cheeks, with the warmth he shot straight to her lower belly. 

She gets in the car-her husband's car- now though, turns on the heat. And Beth waits. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that wait-Feb's been a weird month for me. I've been ironing out the details of how I want pre canon Brio to fold out in this story though, and I think I have a pretty solid outline, so hopefully the next chapter will be soon.   
> Thank you guys again for all the comments and encouragement! I'm so glad you like the story so far, and I'm super excited to get more content out :)   
> Chapter title taken from 'Beth' by Kiss


	4. how do you want me?

They go to the same hotel as last time. When Beth has thought of what would come of a one night stand in the past, she always pictured grimy motels with squeaky bed springs and questionable stains on the carpet. This isn't a romantic getaway, not in any way, shape, or form, but she can appreciate that she won't have to worry about bed bugs or lice afterwards.

She expected Rio to get into his own car after he came back out of Thirsty's, but he slid into the passenger seat like he was completely in his element. "What, should I expect you to ditch me without a ride?" He had asked when she gave him a questioning look, and that had been that. He gets off on ruffling her feathers, she's realizing, and she's not quite sure if she wants to give him the satisfaction or getting worked up or not. 

She looks at him now as he leans on the counter of the front desk, patiently waiting for the hotel worker to hand him the key. She's probably a few years younger than Beth and is glancing between the two of them, probably trying to fit the pieces together. Beth would wonder, too. They certainly don't look like a couple, and she likes to think she doesn't look like a prostitute. The thought has Beth fighting off another flush, but Rio doesn't look bothered in the slightest by the worker's speculative glance. He just takes the key and turns back to Beth, everything about his posture and expression relaxed. He gives her a sardonic twist of her lips, as if to let her know that he knows just how out of her element she is. 

She doesn't necessarily feel out of her element, though. With every step towards that elevator, every second that the silent builds and intensifies, she feels the sparks of heat grow low in her stomach. This is what she wanted-to find this specific man again, this lean, tattooed, dangerously beautiful man and let him show her what it is like to be wanted. Words aren't even needed as they rise to the third floor. They just stare at each other across the space, the only two people in the elevator. His eyes tell her that he's going to eat her up. Her eyes tell him that she's going to let him.

Their hotel room is the first door in the hallway right by the elevator, and Rio smoothly slides the key card in, eyes only leaving her for the time it takes to open the door. She feels his gaze burning a hole into the back of her head as she walks in her first, and maybe she lets her hips swish a bit more than they usually would. Maybe she already knows how much he loves her ass-maybe there's confidence there, because she knows he wants her, knows she won't make herself look like a fool, like she did the last time she tried to get intimate with Dean. 

She pushes any thoughts of that particular night nearly two years ago away, because this isn't about Dean. It isn't really even about what Rio wants. This is all about her. 

Beth discards her purse on one of cheaply cushioned chairs by the window and turns back to him, fully expecting him to pounce on her like he did last time, but that's not the case at all. He's close, but not encroaching her personal bubble. Still a couple feet away, eyes glittering with dark lust as he regards her. He starts at the tip of her toes and slides up her legs, pauses on her hips, her stomach, her breasts. His gaze follows the slope of her collarbone, her throat, which she's sure must look insanely pale. 

Rio takes one step-one, and even though it's a small movement, there's nothing hesitant about it. He's within reaching distance now, and that's exactly what he does. Just reaches out a finger and strokes it down her cheek, like he has to touch and see every part of her before he seals the last of the space between them. Despite herself, Beth finds herself thinking there's something unnaturally tender about the way he touches her now. 

The kiss, though. There's nothing tender about the kiss that he presses to her mouth as soon as his finger has crooked under her chin and forced her to look right at him. It's slower than last time, but there's still a bite to it, and his hands still have an undercurrent of rough urgency as he grips her hips and pulls her into him. He's lean, but his body is hard in the places hers is soft, and Beth's eyes slide shut as she spurs into action. Scrapes her hands through his short hair, opens her mouth to give him access. 

Dean was never really rough with her in the bedroom, even when they were young and still lusting after each other all the time. There was one or two highschool hookups before Dean came around-they've gone blurry in her mind with time. She can't even remember the names of anyone else besides Dean that she was ever romantically involved with. But she knows for a fact that she's never had anyone handle her in the way that Rio handles her. 

Rough fingers along the curvature of her spine under her top. A decisive yank that gets her jacket off one arm, then the other before he's throwing it carelessly across the room. He's nipping forcefully at her neck now, fingers hooked along the fabric of the neck of her shirt, and Beth wonders if he'll rip this one open, too-just tear every piece of clothing that separates the both of them until she's nothing but bare skin and shivering need. There were no timid kisses last time, no awkward fumbling on her part while he laid there passive, letting her do whatever she wanted. She knows there's not going to be any of that this time, either. 

"You know, I woke up feeling real good about myself a couple nights ago," he remarks, and though he seems mostly unaffected, she doesn't miss the slightly ragged hitch of his breathing as he drags his nose across the hollow of her throat, one of his hands sliding down her torso. "Don't remember what I dreamt about, but it was probably this ass." 

Beth's cheeks heat and she chokes out a laugh that dissolves suddenly into a groan as he cups for a split second through her jeans, the movement hard and hot enough to send anticipation shooting through her. He fingers the zipper of her jeans, pulls it down. 

Rio's not afraid to use his teeth. Not in the way he nips at her neck and not in the way he traps her bottom lip, tugs on it teasingly as he squires her to the bed the second she's shucked her jeans off. He's going slow still, like he knows that he can work her up with a few well placed touches, but the movements are getting rougher. She doesn't mind. She wants his handprints branded on her hips, her thighs. 

One of his hands braces on her knee to shove her legs apart, and Beth has a split second of panic, not knowing whether or not she's in suitable underwear. Nothing she has is sexy anymore, but her underwear ranges from 'okay' to 'granny panties.' A peek down reveals a simple black pair-definitely not the worst- and holy shit, she's suddenly back in a world where she's worrying about the undergarments she wears or if she's shaved. That isn't a world she's belonged in in a long, long time. 

Rio doesn't give a damn about her plain underwear, though-just as he hasn't given a damn about her mom jeans, her flowy blouses, the softness of her stomach she never quite got rid off after she had Emma, and he presses more biting kisses down her leg before he's hooking a slender finger into her underwear. She starts to rise off the bed to get them off, that last barrier between them, but his free hand stops her. He just...presses her forcefully to the bed and scrunches her underwear up, moves it to one side and ohmygod. 

He doesn't bother with much more than a few startup licks before he shows her that he's not afraid to get in there. Spear her with his tongue, start to work her with his whole mouth. Beth's back arches, a barked curse leaving her mouth, and she thinks she feels the rumble of his chuckle through her to her bones as her hands try to find purchase in his short hair. He hadn't eaten her out the last time and she feels somewhat shorted by that because damn, if he doesn't make the act seem like art. 

"Rio," she gasps as his tongue finds a tempo, as he brings up a thumb to rub small, tight circles on her clit, one hand braced again on her knee, stretching her wide enough to feel a slight burn. She doesn't know how long they're there, with him worshiping her with his mouth. It could be minutes or hours or lifetimes, but she feels that building fire low in her stomach and cries out more frequently, sharper. 

He recognizes that for what it is, because he pulls back to replace his tongue with one finger, pumping into her at a slow, harsh rate. His head leans against her leg, and she catches dark eyes for a split second before another finger invades her, the thrusts increasing until a flush is casting over her chest and she can't stop panting and she fractures on another gasp of his name. 

She comes hard-maybe not as hard and long as she did last time he was inside her, but it's enough to have her fisting the sheets and closing her eyes. When she opens them again, his shirt is gone and he's standing at the foot of the bed, kicking his jeans off his muscular legs. He's lean, would be considered skinny if it weren't for the hard muscle of his body, and she just drinks him in for a second as she catches her breath. 

Rio places a knee on the bed, has a hard time tearing his eyes away from her legs, still spread where he left them, to tell her, "Up, Mama." He motions for her to sit up, and God, her arms are jello, but he never actually removed her shirt, and disobeying him seems impossible now, if it ever was. She forces herself to sit up and shuck off her shirt, and it's when her shaking fingers are grappling with the clasp of her bra that he joins her again, two hands on the side of her face, lips on hers. 

She can taste herself on him. The back of the bra unclasps and Beth moans into his mouth, hardly wanting to separate long enough to completely remove that last piece of fabric between them. His hand meets her throat to push her back into the pillows, there's the crinkling of a condom he magically extricated from somewhere, and then the heat of him on her, prodding lightly between her legs before he's entering her in one smooth thrust. 

They both gasp out a breath together, and he leans to the side to hike up one of her legs, angling himself so he hits her deeper before he's moving back to look her directly in the eyes. Fingers tangle through her hair, and she welcomes the slight burn as his lips hover over hers. Gasps from her, the slight glisten of her juice still on his lips, the way he works his jaw when he hits her deep and she clenches just a little around him. 

Rio thrusts harder, harder, and she moans desperately, fingers clawing into his shoulders. Dimly, she realizes that they're probably going to get a noise complaint but she doesn't care, nothing matters. 

Beth succumbs. 

-

She's the first to take a shower this time. 

Beth looks over herself in the mirror when she's done, towel wrapped around her torso. Her lips look a little bee stung, and there's a bit of stray mascara under her eyes that she didn't thoroughly get off, but Dean thinks she's with Annie, and it wouldn't be the first time she took a shower at her sister's place. 

She pauses, lets out a barking, bitter laugh. God, it didn't take time at all for her to start plotting out the lies she told her husband, did it? 

Beth wipes at the mess under her eyes with a wet soapy tissue, and when she's satisfied, she steps out of the bathroom, immediately pausing. Rio isn't on the bed, isn't in the small little kitchen area, and he obviously wasn't in the bathroom. For a moment she just stands there, stumped. It could have been him pulling the same stunt she had pulled on him last week, but he didn't bring his car here, so...well, what the hell? Did he expect to walk back to Thirsty's just so he could be slightly petty? Or is he in the lobby or something?

Does she wait for him to come back? 

Her phone ringing jerks her out of her revelry, and Beth puts a hand to her heart. For a second, she's nervous as she stalks over to her discarded purse. But, lo and behold, there are no texts from a worried or supicious Dean, no missed calls, and it's Annie's name flashing on the screen. She lets out a breath and clutches the towel closer to her as she answers the phone. 

"Hey," Annie says before she can get a word in. "I'm sorry, I meant to tell you I couldn't make it to Janey's recital. I had a...thing." 

Beth raises a brow. 9 times out of 10, Annie's 'things' border on the catastrophic. "A thing?" 

Her little sister lets out a long, drawn out sigh, and then says, "It was Nancy and Gregg's 1 year anniversary party. I mean, who has a party one year into a marriage? Congratulations! There's still plenty of time for a divorce! Like, seriously." 

Most of her tone is flippant, but Beth is an expert on the things Annie never says and catches the slight hitch of her voice. Screw Rio and whatever game he's playing, anyways. She's not going to wait for him to skulk back up here, especially not when her sister is upset. "I can be over in half an hour with a bottle of wine. Want me to call Ruby?" 

"Please," Annie says gratefully. Beth doesn't know if she's saying please to the wine or please to Ruby, so she figures it's both as she promises to be over soon and ends the call. She takes a minute to actually get into her clothing-hopefully Ruby won't question why she's fully showered but still in her outfit from earlier- before she scrolls through her phone, down to the Rs. Randall Towney, Reese Collin, that contractor from a few years ago...

Rio. 

Beth's finger hovers over his name, because she definitely hadn't punched this contact in herself, and her phone is passcode protected, so what the hell? She should change her passcode, since he seems to have wandering eyes-and definitely 20/20 vision. She should probably delete his number altogether, actually. 

She scrolls right past it and does none of that as she dials Ruby. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is pretty lightly edited, sorry if there are any crazy errors I missed
> 
> Chapter title taken from 'Desire' by Meg Meyers (which in my opinion is a super brio song as a whole, snatched)

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways I've completely swan dived into the brio trash can and I don't see myself climbing out anytime soon so I thought I'd contribute to the entire brio trashcan community. Feedback is always appreciated!  
> The chapter title is taken from 'Back to Black' by Amy Winehouse.


End file.
